Page 25 of The Business of Blood
Had he been the one to summon me to the Sawyer murder, only to question me about it later? Had he truly meant for me to survive this night, or had my intended slaughter been interrupted?
Jack the Ripper had been disrupted mid-kill before, on the night of the double murder of Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes.
“When you found me in the alley, was I alone? Or did someone chase my attacker away?”
“I am told you were alone and unconscious.”
“Told?”
“Night Horse found you cataleptic and bleeding. He carried you here, knowing I could treat your wound.”
“Mr. Night Horse,” I gasped, whirling on the Hammer in a fraught panic. “Where is my pelisse? Did he search the pockets? Did hetakeanything?”
The Hammer’s sound of mirth was both dark and dry. “Your prejudice is showing, madam. Not all American savages are thieves. Just like not all the Irish are useless, temperamental drunks.”
“And not all Jews are money-lending usurers?” I quipped, appreciating the irony in my words every bit as much as Ididn’tappreciate the insinuation in the Hammer’s tone regarding my people.
“Do be careful, Fiona.” A subtle warning reverberated through the joviality of his voice. “You amuse me, but there are limits to my serenity.”
Once again, he disappeared behind the screen to produce my soiled pelisse. Returning it to me, he stood close. Too close. Awaiting the reveal. “What have you in the pocket of your pelisse that frightens you enough to make your tongue so reckless?” He gifted me with a justification for my behavior. I'd be a fool not to take it.
Reaching into the right pocket, I blew out a gusty breath of relief as I produced the tiny spheres of condemnation.
The Hammer made a cup of his hand, and I let the cool stones roll from mine to his.
My knuckles grazed the rough skin of his palm.
“Turquoise?” A husky note underscored his bemusement. “What does this have to do with anything?”
“Doesn’t your Mr. Night Horse have several necklaces, bracelets, and other adornments made from these stones?”
“You know he does.”
“Have you noticed any missing?”
“My associate’s jewelry does not rank high on my list of concerns.”
Associate. A gentle word for assassin.
I’d never actually been formally introduced to Aramis Night Horse, but he’d delivered a few corpses to me, along with terse directives from the Syndicate. Even though he never acknowledged my polite gratitude, I always erred on the side of civility during our incredibly brief interactions.
Just in case we should ever meet in a dark alley someday.
Well done, me. It seemed to have garnered enough favor with Night Horse to save my life.
And so, was I now to endanger his? Did I have a choice?
“I found these beads in the puddle of blood beneath Frank Sawyer’s exsanguinated corpse,” I revealed in a voice low enough for intrigue, even though we were alone. “Any conjecture as to how they came to be there?”
The Hammer inspected the innocuous little rocks in his hand. Such a pretty color. Vibrant, coarse, and foreign in urbane environs such as the Shiloh room. “I thought you said Jack the Ripper claimed Mr. Sawyer’s murder in the alley before he rendered you unconscious.”
“He did. But he accosted me on my way to deliver these to you.”
A grim calculation tightened his features as he regarded me. “You would have accused Mr. Night Horse of the Sawyer murder?”
“It is not my place to accuse anyone,” I stated carefully. “But answer me this, do you believe that if Aramis Night Horse had found these upon my person in that alley, I would have made it here alive?”
The Hammer said nothing, his features remaining impassive, but his long fingers closed around the beads until his hand became a fist he dropped to his side.
